Why Virtuous Characters Fall Flat
Yes, even those with modern values
Seventy years ago, Disney made movies about idealized women whose virtue was ultimately rewarded with marriage and crown. Our stories today may seem very different—but they’re often not. While plenty of modern stories follow morally gray characters, quite a few popular novels and movies center on idealized women, and the point of those stories is often to see the heroine’s (modern day) virtues rewarded. Modern heroines tend to be have more agency than those of the past, but their agency is often less important to the story than the idealization of their virtues.
The “virtue rewarded” story pattern is one in which a heroine starts the story with ideal virtues (as defined by the era in which the story is published), and ends the story with the very same virtues. She hasn’t learned anything or changed internally; rather, those around her have come to recognize her value. Not everyone likes this type of story or heroine; modern readers tend to prefer a heroine who works to overcome an internal flaw. But even a heroine without an internal flaw can be irresistible. Today we’ll explore how to write such a character; we’ll also look at an example from a recent novel and we’ll workshop a virtuous heroine from Damsel (Netflix).
Virtuous main characters can be tricky to write. They often fall flat for audiences because their lack of flaws seem to equate to invulnerability, and consequently, they become difficult to sympathize with. But there’s a reason characters like Cinderella and Snow White are still popular 75 and 85 years after Disney canonized them in film.
First, let’s look at how these heroines remain idealized paragons of feminine virtues (from the 1930’s and 1950’s), internally unchanged from the beginning to the end of their respective movies. Both heroines are…
patient, faithful, long-suffering: Snow White remains confident in her belief that some day her prince will come, and indeed he finally kisses her while she lies in a death-like sleep. Cinderella is so passively patient in waiting for her own prince that she wishes for him only while she’s “fast asleep,” and he rewards her by searching the land until he secures her foot in marriage (haha).
humble: Snow White seems oblivious to her beauty while her stepmother is willing to kill to be the fairest in the land, and Cinderella must depend on her animal friends and her fairy godmother to dress her for the ball. It’s only through another’s efforts that each is restored to her full beauty at the end of the movie.
gentle, kind: Snow White cares for dwarves while Cinderella makes friends with small animals. Neither fights her tormentors (step-mothers and -sisters), nor need they.
How do we feel sympathy toward characters who embody this level of perfection? What makes us invest in their stories? Let’s discuss three ways to make virtuous characters more interesting to readers.
Flaw vs. Weakness
It’s impossible to feel sympathy for a character who’s invulnerable. But it isn’t only flaws that make a character vulnerable! Weaknesses can do the same. Both Snow White and Cinderella are powerless against their stepmothers, who have forced each of them into poverty and drudgery.
The same is true for many of the beloved “virtuous” characters of Jane Austen novels. Jane Bennet from Pride and Prejudice is perfect: beautiful, gentle, humble, and loyal. But according to the dictates of her day, she can’t so much as write a letter to Bingley after he becomes smitten with her at the Meryton ball. She must wait for his sister to write to her and invite her to dine with her and her brother. Later, when Jane travels to London in the hopes of meeting with Bingley, she again must wait for his sister to serve as a go-between—and she doesn’t realize his sister is working against her! Similarly, Fanny Price from Mansfield Park is obedient, devout, selfless, and wise, from the beginning of the novel to the end. But her poverty puts her at the mercy of her rich relatives, who make her sleep in a cold bedroom, order her to work even in the heat of the sun, and pressure her to accept a marriage proposal from a rake.
Modern heroines are usually more flawed—but any kind of heroine can be made more sympathetic by being put into a vulnerable position.
Foils
Equally iconic as Snow White and Cinderella are their evil stepmothers. Audiences can’t appreciate the virtues of their heroines, or feel their vulnerabilities, unless they also see their foil. Where our heroines are beautiful, humble, kind, and unassuming, their stepmothers are ugly, vain, cruel, and ambitious.
In the same way, Jane Bennet is thrown into relief by Caroline Bingley, whose vanity and scheming almost kill Jane’s chance at love with Charles Bingley. Mary Crawford laughs at Fanny’s values and becomes so brazen in her contempt that she finally loses Edmund’s respect and proves his love for Fanny.
The more extreme the foil, the more appreciation readers will have for the heroine’s virtues. In real life, a little vanity might not be so bad, and modesty might not seem very valuable. But in a story where vanity is taken to its extreme, (such as when Caroline sneers at Jane’s “country” ways) modesty becomes admirable.
Modern day foils are usually less extreme because writers don’t want to paint women as either perfect or evil. But even a non-evil character can serve as a fun foil. Emily Henry’s new novel, Funny Story, opens with Daphne’s fiance, Peter, leaving her for another woman just before their wedding. The other woman isn’t evil; she’s just nauseatingly perfect for Daphne’s fiance. She serves as Peter’s “best man” in Daphne’s canceled wedding, and her name is even the feminized version of Peter’s own—Petra. Daphne had thought that she was Peter’s perfect match, and the irony of the story is that Daphne will now find herself drawn to a man who is anything but perfect (and who happens to be Petra’s ex-boyfriend!).
Wish Fulfillment
The true power of movies like Cinderella and Snow White is in the ability to make the viewer feel that an ordinary or powerless girl could become a glamorous, beloved princess. The same is true for Jane Austen novels: we love to see under-appreciated heroines rewarded with love and wealth.
The best way to give a reader a good dose of wish fulfillment is to start the virtuous heroine in very humble circumstances, and to give her a reward that directly ties to her lack. Cinderella starts in rags and ends in a ballgown; her humility is rewarded. Snow White starts out alone and defenseless, pursued by a hunter and hated by her own “family;” she ends with seven friends and a princely husband.
I often read fantasy novels that show heroines luxuriating in beautiful clothes, extravagant meals, and rich palaces. But unless we first saw them shivering in rags, starving, and cast out into the cold, these rewards don’t register.
For modern day readers, wish fulfillment often comes in the form of career, creativity, and relationships. But these are meaningless unless we’ve seen the heroine longing for these things. Not everyone wants an amazing career—but someone with a particular skill that is undervalued at the beginning of the story will find a specific career to be a fulfilling reward at the end of the story. The reader will fell the same fulfillment by proxy.
The Modern Virtuous Heroine: Mrs. Quinn’s Rise To Fame (No Spoilers)
I recently read a gem of a book about an elderly woman who enters a televised baking competition similar to The Great British Bake Off. Mrs. Quinn is an unassuming woman who enjoys baking treats and who cares deeply for her husband. She has never dreamed of doing anything as bold as entering a baking competition, but for the first time in her life, she decides she wants to do something for herself.
Here’s how Mrs. Quinn works as a “virtuous heroine.” She’s…
humble and modest: She has never sought reward or recognition for anything, and spends much of the opening chapters debating whether she should enter the competition.
kind, generous: She spends much of her time caring for her (very lovable!) husband, and the children of his grown niece.
long-suffering: She carries a great sadness in her heart for the fact that she and her husband have never had children, and yet she is cheerful with the children in her life.
capable: This is more modern virtue for women in fiction, and one that I love. Mrs. Quinn is a talented baker, though she only bakes for her friends and family—until she enters the competition.
Mrs. Quinn displays these virtues from the beginning to the end of the novel. On its surface, Mrs. Quinn’s Rise To Fame is a simple story about a virtuous heroine finally receiving her due reward after a humble life. But there’s actually a clever structure to the story that makes Mrs. Quinn a fascinating character:
The modern day chapters are intercut with scenes from Mrs. Quinn’s past, in which she experienced something very difficult, which she has never told anyone about—not even her husband. In this way, you might say she has a flaw, which is her failure to trust her husband with her secret from the past. But this flaw is one that is hardly her fault; it’s pressed on her by the dictates of the society she grew up in. Really, the point of these scenes from the past is to highlight not a flaw but a wound Mrs. Quinn suffers from even in the present day.
Here are the qualities that make Mrs. Quinn a compelling heroine:
wound: She carries a painful secret from the past. While readers root for Mrs. Quinn to excel in the competition, they also hope she will find healing—a more important outcome for the story than placing in the contest.
weakness: While she’s a great baker, she doesn’t know much about competing on a modern TV show. She uses weights to measure her ingredients (instead of a modern kitchen scale), she needs her great nephew to set up her social media, and she needs her niece to help her with clothes and makeup that work for the camera. She also must juggle caring for her aging husband while she spends time away filming. All of these weaknesses lend the story suspense, but more importantly, they show that Mrs. Quinn is part of a lovely community, which not only further proves her virtue but also invites the reader to enjoy the warmth of her personal connections.
foil: A minor element in the book is the occasional outrageous addition from a very young, fame-hungry contestant. This minor character is different from Mrs. Quinn in both her savviness and selfishness. Her self-focus highlights Mrs. Quinn’s humble generosity by contrast.
wish fulfillment: I’m no baker, but even I want to experience the thrill of competing on a famous and fun baking show. I want to experience the challenges of baking something without a detailed recipe. I want to peek at the process of getting ready for the cameras. I want to make friends with kind contestants and pass judgment on unkind ones. And I want the ultimate thrill of the judges praising my “bake.” Don’t you?
Mrs. Quinn remains mostly unchanged from the beginning to the end of the story, with one notable exception. She faces her past wound, shares her secret, and finds a way to heal. The ending provides a great catharsis in this sense—but the point of the story isn’t to see a flawed person change. It’s to see a heroine rewarded for both her baking skill and her virtuous qualities of long-suffering, loving humility.
While many of us write about flawed characters seeking growth, which is a great way to tell a story, we also have the option to write about a character like Mrs. Quinn, who embodies our virtues and is finally rewarded. The reason such a character is so powerful is that we and our readers also wish to be rewarded for our own hidden virtues.
Your Turn
Whether you’re writing an unchanging, virtuous heroine or a character with flaws and room for growth, ask yourself these questions to create more complexity:
How can I exaggerate the attributes of a foil character in order to better prove my heroine’s virtues by contrast?
How might I give my heroine an internal struggle that forces her to choose between two virtues (example: loyalty to family vs compassion for those who are suffering)?
How does my heroine’s reward at the end of the story match her “lack” at the beginning of the story?
What situation will make my heroine more vulnerable through no fault of her own?
